I am doing my best to listen intently
but i am spinning, swimming
in my thoughts
dizzy
not sure what I've got
what you've left me with
you are hiding your face
for shame or for snickering
i am lost in deciding
turn my eyes back forward
to parallel the fake face that never left

I'll whisper
whisper when the wind picks up
I still love you, I'm sorry

I never have been good at reading lips
but I hope this is something we don't share
as you stand there
windblown hair,
with nothing on your face
I hope you understand
this time I'm going, I have no choice
life has made it for me
I'd take you with me if i could
and so I'm sorry
I'll whisper
whisper when the wind dies down
I still love you, I'm sorry

I still love you, I'm sorry
screamed at the top of breathless lungs
you tear away from me and all i want is to touch you
open the door and in an instant slam it behind you
I recoil in spasms, near madness
so overtaken with emotion that i am shaken
into violent paroxysms
I frightened the hell out of you i think
kicking, slamming my body into the door
through the empty space where only seconds before
you sat
and
I watched you walk away
(I wish i didnt know you went to cry in the bathroom...)
and when you're gone, in silence, after the storm, i still do
I'm sorry, but i still love you

Helpless to reject you when you call for help
pick up because i'm powerless to do anything else
beg for some kind of insight into this insanity
manage to hold my breathing half way steadily
speak in calm tones, gentle, to console
you're crying - and you have no way of knowing
what that still does to me (it cuts me)
The whole time i call myself helping, offering an ear, a shoulder
something to hold onto when your world is blown apart-
this tightness in my chest, a consistent catch in my breath
an ache, a longing, not something i can explain
but it has words of it's own - and i know what it would say
"i still love you, I'm sorry"
this conversatuion serves to make me smile and mar me
unspeakably

(click.)
(dial tone. . .)

yeah, couldn't get better than this,
i've got a creak in my jaw and the sun in my fist
i woke up quickly  in the haze and the mist       (
it cleared up quicker  than the moments ive missed
it lasted no longer than a blink and gasp
woke up drenched in the morning light
woke up sweet so it wasn't  a fight
Got God on my side , and the day at my back
rest these young bones, and old soul, when they creak, and they crack
when they're weak and they lack
Yeah it couldn't get better than that

the sun's still barely shinin
but this evening i've got a feeling
God's changing futures I'm not seein

It's that red-gold glow that i'm hungry for
keep eatin and keep eatin more
you  keep on feeding
and ill keep on keeping
on,
I'll keep on counting
by ones, by ones
one, two, three, four.

(don't throw them pigs no pearls they'll crack their teeth)
(and mud is only deep enough for mudfights if you sink)
(and mud throwin and dirt rollin make everybody stink )

It couldnt get better than this,
it couldnt get better than that
Unless it lasted till after the fact
replay, take a free day
and for once give up the map
it couldnt get better than that

somehow, i can be okay with goodbye when,
with a sudden snap you removed these parasitic vines, from my spine
where they had grown, laced and intertwined into my nervous system
i was anxious, suffocated by anxiety until i came to the realization that i won't miss them
they were suffocating me and i thought i was fine, because they never came close to my throat
but, nobody has to wrap their cold hands around your trachea to make you choke
all it takes is a little pressure on a part of your soul that's already constricted,
all it takes is some back and forth and promises to make you, unmake you, make you addicted
its as simple as being chained by somebody's expectations for you to change
one more person making the same promises to stick around and then not staying
one more person saying that you're perfect the way you are when you meet them
but being shocked, appalled, disgusted when you slide back the paper thin walls
you put between yourself and the rest of humanity so that you can function
you do it with all those moments you subtly assure them that your brokkeness is fiction
and the second they notice theyre right back up and running
perpetuating the cycle of your need for invisibility,
maintaining the lifestyle of perfecting your camouflage
I know someone who hid in her closet when she was just a child
to hide the scars that the next door neighbor had bored into her psyche
from her mother an everyone else - to perpetuate their happiness at the cost of herself
I understand what it's like to have a savior complex, and be full of guilt
I understand what it's like to think you have to save everyone you love from your reflection
I understand the ache in your chest that comes from running too far, too fast, in all directions
just so you don't have to take the one path you think you can't handle
I understand what it's like to not be able.

Recently i have been remembering my father. It is hard, but he is a man worth remembering. I do not know how everyone else saw him, but, despite his flaws, he was a great father and a great man. He was a man i was sure of the love of.. He showed me what that meant. I could see it in him. He had some out there thoughts, some strange views - maybe because he went through the 70s , maybe because that was just his head. But no matter that, he loved. The Lord, his wife, my wonderful mother, I , my brothers. I still find strands of his silver hair, even here, in toccoa, among my things. On his jacket. I am reminded of him by the things he left behind. and i remember the space he filled in my life. I never got the chance to right some of the things i regret- shrugging him off - arguing - avoiding him. But i know he forgives me. He is my father - that doesn't and has not changed. Through his passing i have learned that he truly was a great one, and i was sometimes shortsighted when he was still here. I have learned that where he fails - My father God will not. I have seen how he reflected God, and i have seen where he fell short in his humanity. He remains - not perfect - and i will not glorify him past what i believe he was - but an amazing picture of change and redemption through his life. He survived a lot that most men would have crumbled under. He did not run from things that many men would have shrank and hidden from. He made bad choices. But he did what he could to make them right. he lived fast sometimes, but he never forgot that slowing down is important to truly living as well. He may have screamed, yelled, or lost his temper, but at heart, he was a gentle man. He had the strength and the knowledge and the wit to cut people down, but he build them up, bridled his strength, was not a prideful man. He lost much, but he held on to what he still had. He was what a father should be. He was not a god, nor did he always lead with his values in a perfectly straight line. But he taught me to love my brothers. He taught me that blood was thicker. He taught me that God is always the one to go to when everything is wrecked - and you can always go to him even if it was you who wrecked those things. I wish we had seen more eye to eye. But i think, perhaps for our disagreements i found more of me. I think for his weakness, i was given strength. And i imagine i, through my stubbornness and temper similar to his own, challenged him to love daily. And he still did. I miss him.

Hey watch this,Babe i got this
backflip it and stick it
like a ninja i'm acrobatic
you want it back but babe you just cant have it
i rock around your feelings wreaking havoc
roll around in the poison looks your'e shootin me
but it don't burn cause i'm dressed in hazmat
You got that?
Babe i got this.

I might look like
ive got a dagger and a dirk
on in each hand
ready to stab deep, to hurt
might look like
ive got fangs that drip venom
but venom's not in em
It's a vicious cocktail
of hurt and hope
might look like
to my temple or to yours
ive got a glock
but i dont and that
tick tocking sound is not
a gun cocking it's a clock
winding down in my memories
because i'm stuck remembering
and reliving them
so i hope it's relieving to know
it


might look like
i wish you dead before i go to sleep
but what i wish is you were next to me

They said i was a **** but im not see
they said i was naughty  but thats not me
they said i was smoothe like im watery
but im not cause im nautically inept
i'd drown if i tried to swim in watery depths
stickin to the shallows where the minnows are kept
cause i cant trust the captain when im wearing the hat
worried bout the undertow and the way that it swept me out
im not sure what will come to pass but my compass will get me out
its late, but its gonna be early soon, ill start watching morning stars
and stop getting distracted by the reflection of the moon
waves like to slap me in the face, it might not be courteous
but its the cultural pace, its rude, values are lost and the truth
is sinking to the bottom of the trench, spit on and forgotten in the deepest end

ANd when i hear the gavel echo
it will strike through history
ring with the sound of nails pounded into a crucifix
by weary roman hands, bloodstained, sliced by the grain of the wood and
reflect the splintered dogwood tree in his eyes
and he will smile. I will finally understand.

I want to write a storm so well it blows you away
use words so mindblowing you don't know what to say
using just my words and speeches leave you wrecked and speechless
throw daggers with deadly proficiency, ones crafted from words i spit with full efficiency
i might repeat myself but i do it efficiently
spit spirit twice over to show her it sticks with me

He laid down his riches, his kingdom, his throne,
and for mankind became a slave.
He willingly and knowingly allowed himself to be offered up as a tribute to defang and defame death. and your minuscule issues. He laid himself down to be lifted up. He fought not the fate of crucifixion, for redeeming the fate of man was his mission.Why would the ultimate goal of the only God of the universe be to redeem a creation that had defied him?Why, when betrayed, was the ultimately powerful God inclined to give up his life to recapture our affections and our fates from what our defiance necessitates?
Freedom to love freely given us
we were not meant
to be robots
we were meant
to have hearts
our hearts, became harlots
they lay down
with the unworthiest of lovers
they drowned, and drown themself,
in affairs hidden under dingy covers
love is a choice
and we messed this one up
We tore through his heart with splinters
, and though he loved us dearly, we struck a bargain with death.
Gavels smashed the nails into place.
It was a debt that would destroy love.
But love could not be destroyed
And so, after three days, with death’s sting in hand, he rose.
He was the only one able to become a thorn in death’s side.
It was for mercy,
it was for justice,
it was for love,
and it was for grace, that he became incarnate.
It was from before time, from the beginning of creation,
from the birth of man at his hands, from the moment his breath filled Adam’s lungs,
it was from then, that it began.
In creation,
it is the incarnation and the resurrection that so clearly paint a portrait of God's face,
and just how he loves man in this broken place
rescuing and redeeming it.
he is not hiding. he is here.
There is a thread of scarlet, weaved from the very moment we fell,
up until the day we shall be well,
up until the day we shall explode from the ground in unending swells
This thread from death, to life, through love, is Jesus.
He is a stamp of lipstick that seals a love letter to humanity.
Though humanity is a *****.
It is an illumination of his love for us.
The light of a lamp ever close,
when by chasing the affections of others we have attempted its escape.
It is too plain. And it is meant to be that way.
It is intended to thwart our blindness and woo us away from unworthy lovers.
It is the clearest declaration of love man has ever been exposed to.
His life, It is a portrait of Jesus, and how he loves his bride. It is God’s greatest pick up line.
So why it is that he came? He came to live, to be tortured and yes, to die..
But what is most important is this: He came for us.
restoration of us to a place of life.
the image of God within us
to its full manifestation
replaced within the proper space  
though not  finally consummated until our glorification.
It accomplished all it intended, and it intended our full resurrection
  We are resurrected unto life,
unto intimacy with God,
unto hope for a future,
unto the loss for words at his love for us.
We are resurrected unto eternal paradise with the God-man who loves us most


ANd when i hear the gavel echo
it will strike through history
ring with the sound of nails pounded into a crucifix
by weary roman hands, bloodstained, sliced by the grain of the wood and
reflect the splintered dogwood tree in his eyes
and he will smile. I will finally understand.

I wish
I could
Fix it
Be your prince
You my princess
But i know it's
No use right now
But that doesnt stop me from
wishing, wanting, waiting, hoping, hurting, hating
to make all our promises a reality
for you to stop pretending that youre over this
for things to change but doubting  
that they can
because they haven't
but i can't change it

there is hope for you yet
said with a bit of jest, undercoated with a mite of seriousness
I wonder what kind of hope she meant

My heart broke for you but you wouln't believe it
I heard he hurt you and I'd already preconceived it
and told you so, but i won't say i told you so
I've never been that guy. you know.

I won't say i told you so unless the words are I love you
and it's because you finally believe me.

thirty pieces of silver scattered around my feet
he went to hang himself - regret it was i think

I am a poet; you’re just a “proser”
Your words lack rhythm like a deadbeat composer
You’ve got no measure and you can’t keep time
You’d sound a whole lot better as an irate mime
Wait a little longer don’t speak before you spell
Every time you do that you sound like barn animals from hell
Work a little harder; make your words sound elegant
Not like an *** – err – I mean democrat

im going to rip her apart
im going to shatter her glass heart
step close to her and stoop down to
the most tragically beautiful piece of art
the most jagged piece of the painting
and even if the artist hates me
pick it up
grasp it tight for days
until blood drips down its face
turn it on my self, pluge it into my chest
and twist
if i cant save her then
only God can save me from this
breaking her heart will **** her
killing her will **** me
slowly or quickly
a knife across an artery
or the slow decay of the guilty

i want to live loving madly
and so sadly
i must let her go
not knowing, but hoping
just gently is enough
enough for her to live free
enough for her to love see
enough that she'll forget me
when she's waking when she's sleeping
Lord even if it breaks me
i go willingly

If you're the girl who will kiss all of the scars
left by the ones that came before you,
come closer,
I would like to say hello
(will you let me kiss yours too?)

I'm trapped in my labrinthian mind
Attempted Rehabilitation has shaken me into self delusion
My submission is to seclusion
I'm cut off from my self in entropic confusion
Inevitable walls rise at emotions first mentioned
Truths I've obscured through divisive contention
I argue with my self. . . no I don't.
Its hard to pull myself apart
But I must
Divide my sins to see my heart

it's one of those lazy Sundays where your stomach is full
you are
almost content in your procrastination
you are
just happy to digest
your day
and your weekly home-cooked meal
but you still know that there is
work to be done
an echo in the back of your mind keeps saying
(do it tomorrow... tomorrow..tomorrow)

let the poetry flow from me
like water flows through mountain streams
I invoke you my muse, and as the Greek you don't exist
but truly I'm inspired by something, my muse - it is this
that though i should be dead i live
that though i should whither i don't die
that, in the scorching weather, i thrive, overcome, rise
up and above, outward and over, got trials, i can overcome another
and keep them coming because I'm never going under
gonna turn my poetry into the ability to swim
never gonna suffocate at the hand of my demons, I'm gonna suffocate them
push their heads under the water as i use their skulls as ladder steps
I'm climbing out of the ocean and I'm wearing mad hatter hats
The water didn't drive me insane, it's insane that i survived
but here i am and I'm embracing the insanity inside
myself, but
I am not beside my self
not by my self even when i am alone

I will leave it up to you to decipher if
I'm referring to the voices or a divinity - both fit
(Hint: cling to it)

a cursor on the page as i stare into blank white space
unsure of what i feel and worried it shows on my face
thoughts i cant control invade my mind
the sure instinct or maybe feeling that something just isnt right
its disturbing, unnerving, unsettling-  perhaps
thoughts turned daydream must alway become waking nightmares
perhaps one of these thoughts will be my bunny's death snare
i dont want to let go but if i must
what if, what if, what if
i cant go peacefully
what if against my will she'd die for me
id lie in bed for days but never sleep
dying because killing her was killing me

...you must love her a lot

I do...sometimes...i actually begin to think that this love might be outside myself, and greater than most anything ive ever laid eyes or skin on.

This love truly exists?
Is it really possible to find someone who sees love this way?
Who doesn't put it in a box, belittle it, say it's a feeling or a mere hormone
...but sees it for the mystery that it is:
something so simple and delicate
and yet
so powerful and strong
at the same time.
Something to not be taken lightly
but to be cherished and watered so it might grow...
The fingerprints of one who loves to caress our very souls
and lay such thoughts on our minds to ponder...

It does exist.
And though it may find itself flowing through the riverbeds of fingertips,
they cannot grasp it.
Though it may attach itself to and entwine itself into the skin - and those things deeper -
the heart- the mind - perhaps even the blood of human beings -
it is not able to be put in a vial.
It cannot be captured.
It always runs free.
It may be muted or obscured - but in its truest - its purest forms -
it is both knowable and unknowable -
in the sense that one may become intimate with it -
caress it -
hold it -
even kiss it -
but that it may not be intellectually or understandably grasped
by any inkling of any atom that exists -

the only thing that can possibly understand or encompass it - is the entirety of everything .
It is found in creation inherently.
It is in the sunlight and the blooms of spring.
It is in the rivers - the curves of smooth red cliffs-
It is in life turned to death turned into life again
it is in the hands of a creator of such magnitude that they are infinite -
and as the environment in which it exists is infinite and ever reaching -
so is that thing itself called love

Assaulted by memories
Like
Carrion birds to carcasses
Remembering your words
But
Somehow still struggling to know whose heart this is
And whose chest or grasp it’s in
If
It’s been ripped free by a maniacal beak
That from the beginning knew that it would speak those promises in truth
Nevermore
Or
If it’s still there locked away in my chest
Like an all too ready rioter’s fist, shaking at the bonds it’s in

My indecision is neatly stacked in lines along the walls.
It circles towards the center.
There is no drain in the middle of the sunken floor.
But by the way gravity seems to pull the endless stacks of papers along the walls, you would think the room was liquid.
You would easily be convinced that indecision is fluid.
I would say that I am torn, but truth be told, I am not.
I am simply sitting calmly in the space between two paths.
Some tell me I should trod where nobody ever has.
Others seem to think that I should pretend to be water,
Blend with my indecision, and just go with the flow.
And then there is the second pathway,
I would think it would be the opposite of trailblazing -
but that is where i stand in indecision.
No, the other path is also a path of resistance.
But not for the difficulty of the path.
This is the place where i must choose to chase the other shipwrecks,
or to head to the shore.
This is where i must either allow myself to be healed, accept the healing, move on, embrace my new life - or where i hold onto the chemicals - where i hold onto the emotions - where i hold onto the rush, the rollercoaster, the addictions -
where I , ironically, am met with the choice to define the value of my experiences
in terms of their unpredictability and the lack of wisdom and safety among them
or to choose wisely, disallow myself to continue in that which will further destroy me,
I have been empty, Now i must be filled.

Best friend
i love you
but how,
i know not.

It's just not as easy
for me to stop loving
as it is for you to say
there's no way you could love me

Left. Creek. Splash.
Above. Creek. Like  a waterfall.
Shuffling on the rocks

Music stuck in my head
the crackling of fire pops in the mix of
maroon five and
early a.m. skies
stars
flicker in and out
the breath of a man
just through making love
to a mountain

I should do this more often.

the master's peace is an unknown masterpiece
a ****** scrap of paper
floating across plains-
they are not godforsaken
but the people who walk them have forsaken god
they are wanderers- like me
we all are
and i wondered
i wished that one of us chasing that torn scrap of script
would catch it in our fist
and so on this page i write the secret
forget, then crumple it


[the secret]

[Jesus is the way. he is the light of day. The only real reason to breathe. The hardest thing to hold onto. The only one who can always be trusted to hold you. The answer to all your questions- If only after you die. The scars in his side were for you. If you would stop wandering and look beside yourself you would see his face. If you only cried out, if your soul cried out to him, he would listen. he would hear. he would answer.The only peace you will ever have forever is his peace. The master's peace. It is a masterpiece. Let him paint it in you. Please God acid etch it into me.]

i want to paint a picture
the canvas stands in front of us
we're holding hands
the brushes in our others
staring at the canvas we begin to paint
a picture that we love and so many others hate
we paint OUR starry night.
a nightmare for van gogh but  a dream that i know that
i want to last
no blending of colors in moments past
stars in the sky and the moon in a haze
we'ew barely breathing, comatose, but so awake
i could see the wind stirring the sky around and inside
as a torrential zephyrous blaze
so deep, so untameable, so true
and it flew.
into the page
as each stroke glints in your eye and in mine
i cry.
its so beautiful i cry
and the stars cry with me.
no color recreatable
no lie its unmistakeable.
our love is a masterpiece.
every masterpiece is incomplete.
let's paint for eternity.

all the lapses in time
mix like melted crayons
i'm tired and wish that they could stay on
my skin, but they drip down and in
to a puddle at my feet
the moments that drip, slip away
are the ones that i wish that i could keep
but they melt, mix and make
a puddle so deep
i should step in
i'd be delighted to sink
take turns to tip back and taste each one like a drink
splash, spill each one over my skin
make each a mess for memory's sake
turn, tilt, and take time to
clothe my self in all the caressing colors
like a motley collage
of rainbows turned chameleon camouflage
i'll hide in the folds of these memoreies
for earth's forever
fly where they take me
daydreaming while waking
splash in a puddle comprised of the past
pbpbpbpbpbpbp play in a puddle of
paint like
late night
rain puddle baptisms
and fake rage spasms
and faces so cute it's hard to look at em
money could buy happiness if
someone bottled and sold the sunlight that we napped in
on the sidewalk
the opposite appearance but the same substance
as our late night...not dates...adventures...and deep talks
the early Tuesday morning
walks and discovering
our very own piece of paradise
complete with waterfall
the overall romance
like an always sheepish glance filled swing dance
the innocence...
the spontaneity and
"do-it-you-won't-i-wouldn't-even-be-mad" spring break trips
taco bell and heathens and sheathens, HELL!!! comments
fresh beginnings and new starts
curious minds and ravenous hearts
lakes that look like bits of Scotland
and arms with seals also on hearts
(ar ar ar)
memories like melted crayons in a puddle at my feet
he will take the memories that i can't shake

See what you left me with? Do you? It took me a long time for me to see...you left me. with everything. Right here. All of it. Took nothing with you...except maybe the memories...the one thing I wish I could be sure you didnt leave.

I always care when I am bitter. I always long to see you when it hurts to.
I always fight to the moment i have no more breaths, even when i forget what light is for the clouds above me. Sometimes I stumble when I step, But i always step. I might forget who I am , but it's because I am not who i was. I nearly never say I'm reaching out when i throw out my hand in hopes you'll catch it, but my palms have learned how to fly. I forget yesterday sometimes as soon as the sun sets, But tomorrow is worth it, just like the sun will rise. Love is worth the fight. Love is the only thing that never dies. I only ever wanted violence to keep the peace. I only ever stayed up late to escape sleep/ I only ever tasted fate when i washed your feet. I held a few hearts in my hands before, and i dropped them ,shards of red stained porcelain on the floor. I never was real graceful until you poured me full of grace. I may wear a mask sometimes, but I always long to show you my face, Sometimes i drink something bitter, because to some it's a sweeter taste. I may sit still, because in being slow to anger i win the race. But I'll never give up searching, wandering, and wondering, even if I slow my pace.

Miasmic clouds strewn through the air
Inside our minds
A wishing well
Such things have known
Much hail and storm
Insanity thrown through the clouds
Could show us when and show us how

Could clouds answer me or will I
Live depravity
Out of water spring my feet
Under clouds
Dive my leaf; to the ground so
Soundlessly

I am not a mistake.
I am not heartache or heartbreak.
I am not just a face.
I am not just these words on a page.
I am not that easily erased.
I am not just a shape.
I am not misshapen.
I am not a mistake.
But i am mistaken.

Is there any such thing as always?
For sure forever is a fairy tale, or so i thought
broke down after my best attempts at building bridges
so i could still
walk all over them
and then
had my eyes Un-jaded by a jagged re-creation
so that i could see all the blazes that i left in my wake
all the floods of fire that i set for my own sake
realized i had forgotten that there is always one
always. . .
that there is for sure just one forever

I saw morning glories in the morning
white and full of pride
purple crowns around their green stem necks
alone, but not lonely
in a cotton field where i ripped up roots
and uprooted rocks

I saw morning glories in the afternoon
tired and a little pale
purple crowns looking like they needed a bit of polish
solitary, not brooding, but thoughtful
in a cotton field where the sun beat down on me
and i refused to bow

i saw morning glories in the evening
withering and dying
almost dead, looking for heirs to their crowns, but finding none
melancholy, but somehow still solemn in the stark heat
in a cotton field  where beauty i did meet
and speak of here and now

I shy away from sentences.
In the spaces where words should be,but aren't I can maintain my anonymity,and shore up my unrepentance.
  When I speak in more than snippets, it becomes plain.
I am as broken as my preferred pattern of speaking, of writing.
If you look close enough, you can see it.
It isn't as clever as I wish it was.
And sure, its effective enough at soliciting a fleeting feeling.
But what good does it do?
I like to pretend that I want to be known.
Really, I am hiding just out of sight.
Around the next corner on that daily walk where we sometimes collide.
  In circles of other people you know.
You've seen my face, you know my name,
youd even say you know me.
But if you were asked who I am, you'd hesitate,
with a catch in your throat, and a half reassuring-half derogatory smile.
" well, you're.. You" you'd say.  
And no matter how many times you're asked, you'd repeat it.
For days,months, years.
I've watched it happen already.
I'm not sure if I haven't taken the trouble to really introduce myself,
Or if you haven't taken the trouble to realize that I am not just
Some whimsical syllable
Plastered on my shoulders
From birth to now.
And now, we don't have time to be sure.

M.S. Capulet it's time to be honest with my self
time to wash my chest out
come clean about all I've really felt
This isn't perfect, isn't close,
but neither was the romance that Speare wrote
feel like a fairytale frog with words stuck in my throat
been trying to speak what i feel but so far only just croak
                    Let me be your romeo...

Dove, you remind me what it's like to fall in love
at midnight like a Montague
you make me want to
throw pebbles at your window
come over late on nights like this when i don't know
because you would't say and you fell asleep
(you thought this might just be a summer thing, some sort of fling)
But I'd do almost anything
to keep you Juliet
no regret, no joke
         I don't think there ever were words big enough for this hope. . .

And the two lovers they were starcrossed
just like my fingers when we started "us"
that night we stargazed but i guess I'm just
afraid we'll shatter into stardust
he climbed but
she would have jumped if he asked
that's us
we're trying to get over our past. . .

I'm not gonna pretend i don't think about the past
that i don't sometimes wish it, but that's just it
we've got this chance and i'm not gonna miss it
we've got this time and i'm not gonna twist it around
I've got an ugly purple scar across my heart, will you kiss it now?
It's been far too long trying to get this off my chest
but let's write our own tragedy,
       hell, romance is a mess, miss. . .

You are my muse
and that, to me  is amusing
you think you're using me
but i'm using you
to produce a substance that is a part of me
It is a substance that many men have dubbed poetry

What's on my mind? It's hard to pin myself to paper, to pen myself to paper, in a forced manner, bound by fetters, but remember later, the resistance is better, the nurturing of my underside, written in fine lines, they are not wasted time. They are lifelines.
                     The letters are lifelines. The essence of my devotion. Moving in motion. Like the color of my pen, matches the color of the ocean, and the scribbles on the paper match the rhythm and the notion. I understand, it's understood, It's unavoidable but I'd avoid it when i could, escape it. Break loose. Unchain myself. free to wallow in the more comfortable chains i smelt.